


Unwilling

by bemusedbicycle



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/pseuds/bemusedbicycle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She doesn't kiss him right away." The moments after true love's kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwilling

She doesn’t kiss him right away.

She knows she should – knows that’s what the others want her to do (the look on her father’s face is heartbreaking as he quietly suggests it, the hope nearly doing her in because he wants this for her, wants her to find her happy ending).

But Hook’s cold and lifeless body on a hospital bed is not her happy ending. The machines beep around him, steady and sure, and she wants to roll her eyes because they know what’s wrong. These monitors aren’t going to fix the thing that is keeping his eyes closed and chest still.

He is asleep.

He has been for days.

Her fingers trail along his skin and she wonders if he’s burning where he is – if he’s waiting for her (and she knows without a doubt that he is because that is exactly what he does best – wait for her). Desperation and anxiety claw at her chest and she leans forward, her lips a whispers breath away from his. If he were awake she would be able to feel the warm puff of his exhalations, the spicy scent that lingers on him when he is animated and full of life.

But he is asleep, and she doesn’t feel a thing (she feels everything – she feels too much).

She pulls back and leaves the room.

-/-

Ironically enough, it is Regina who approaches her at the coffee vending machine down the hall from his room. Emma rocks back and forth in front of it, watching as the nozzle spits out vile sludge disguised as caffeine. But she can’t sleep – doesn’t want to sleep – and this is all that can keep her moving. Her body is heavy and tired and her emotions are too much so she ignores them completely, sitting at his bedside like a deaf mute, ignoring anyone and anything that comes to talk to her.

“Emma – “ Regina begins and Emma just shakes her head, the tears that burn behind her eyes frustrating and where are they even coming from?

She doesn’t know. She just – she doesn’t know.

A heavy sigh and then –

“I know it’s not what we are used to.” It’s not her biting tone that catches her attention, but the word we. Her gaze slants over to the other woman as her shaky hand grabs for the styrofoam cup. “But are you really willing to let him die because you are afraid?”

Regina turns without another word and Emma stands there for a long time, the coffee in her cup cooling to tepid before she drags her body back down the hall.

-/-

She pushes back the hair on his forehead, smoothes her fingertips over the lines around his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers and hopes he can hear.

-/-

The pulse of magic around them doesn’t waver – strong and sure in its intensity. She gasps and pulls away from his lips before he gets the chance to open his eyes, feet shuffling back, back, back.

Bright, frantic blue finds her as her back presses against the door and he tilts his head.

He moves and she breathes.

“Emma?”

The small, timid, completely unbelieving smile that lifts the corner of his lips wakes the anguish inside of her – the anxiety twisting around her throat and pushing down on her lungs. Her eyes flicker away from his and focus on the cracked and peeling paint in the upper left corner of the small room as her hand fumbles for the doorknob.

“I can’t.” She tries to say but it comes out on a wheeze and she can see him sitting up in his bed (he just woke up, and he is already trying to help, trying to heal). She can feel his concern as his hand reaches for her. But she shakes her head and practically falls through the door.

“Emma, wait –

“I’m so sorry, I can’t.”

-/-

True love doesn’t happen for people like her. He will be just the same as the others. She will be left behind.

His eyes burn through the back of her head as she casually flips the page of the paper, biting on the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing. Or screaming.

She can’t.

She won’t.

-/-

He finds her in the station, stepping in her space even as she tries to move around him. His face is tired and his eyes are sad and he’s got lingering bruises on his cheekbones – the only after effects of the curse, apparently.

“We need to talk.” He sighs.

She wrenches her arm out of his grasp because no, they most certainly do not. “Why?” She bites and she watches as he flinches. She shrugs on her leather coat and moves towards the door because being alone with him isn’t good, isn’t good at all. “Nothing has changed.”

His gaze hardens as his jaw sets in a firm line – something dark pulling him under. He takes a step forward and scrubs at his chin roughly while everything has changed, everything has changed runs on a manic loop through her mind. He opens his mouth and closes it, defeat tugging his shoulders down. A self-deprecating smile pulls at his lips and he looks down at his feet.

“Aye, I guess not.”

-/-

She pretends not to notice how miserable he is – how the circles under his eyes only grow darker. She pretends not to hear him shuffle out of his room across the hall at night (because she is awake too – she is always awake), pausing in front of her door until slow and sluggish steps carry him away.

(She hears the dull thud of his forehead against the wood, imagines his palm pressed flat against it.)

She breathes easier when she sees the shadows of his feet against the light beneath her door but she doesn’t dwell on it. She just presses her face into her pillow and cries because she hurts and she knows why but she is helpless to stop it.

-/-

They do their best to maintain some sort of strained relationship but it’s hard – on the both of them. He is a patient man she knows (300 years of relentless revenge more than prove that) but he is growing weary with her and it is exactly as she feared. He will become bored - tired of this infatuation.

He will leave.

It isn’t until the monkeys attack that it all comes crashing down.

He is being an idiot – reckless as he throws himself in front of her. A monkey comes screeching at his left when he isn’t looking, too busy protecting her to pay attention. Its claws reach for his throat and the scream that leaves her is terrifying – her palms pushing out before she can think – her magic bursting around them in a solid barrier. The monkeys take off in terrible frustration, the sound of their flapping wings muted through the thick magic that surrounds them. Hook turns slowly to look at her as she lowers her defenses (he is okay, he is okay, it is okay) and the anger in his eyes surprises her.

But he keeps his mouth shut, sheathes his sword and begins stomping back towards the town.

“Sorry I just saved your life.” And she really should have known better, but she is tired and –

He whirls around to face her, ridiculous coat swirling around his legs in a whoosh. His fingers close over her arm as he walks them backwards, face absolutely enraged as his grip bruises her skin.

“Why did you, Swan?” He leans forward until she can practically taste his breath. “Why did you save me?”

Her brows furrow even as she tries to pull her arm from his grip but he holds fast, stepping further into her. His toes press against hers and she slips as her back hits a tree. But his hook is at her waist and he holds her, pinning her between his arms and erasing any chance at escape.

“What are you talking about?”

His hook buries itself in the wood by her head with a frustrated growl and she winces. “You know bloody well what I’m talking about. You saved my life and yet you insist on ignoring my existence. Why bother if you can’t even look at me?”

“I don’t – “

“You love me.” The anger leaves his voice in a rush, leaving behind exhaustion. His gaze softens as she meets his eyes with a gasp, the blue impossibly, impossibly sad. “You have your proof of it.” He continues. “And I understand that I am not your choice, that I could never be – “

He swallows hard and looks at the rough bark to the left of her ear. “You should have let me die, Emma.”

The pain – god, the pain – is worse than that she has been inflicting upon herself because he wishes he were dead rather than not be able to have her.

Her.

She whimpers and when did she start crying because she is – she is sobbing. She is breaking this man and breaking herself because she is scared, terrified of a distant possibility. She grabs for the chain around his neck, the charms biting in to her hand as she tugs him closer and her forehead falls against his jaw. He is frozen in front of her as a litany of apologies tumble from her lips because she has been so selfish – so scared and selfish.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His arms hesitantly wrap around her, growing in confidence and strength when she articulates her relief in a grateful sob. “Killian, I’m sorry.”

She lets her nose press against his collarbone, greedily inhales his scent and his comfort and his being. Her heart beats strong in her chest (and she hears the steady echo of his perfectly in time with hers against her ear) as she sighs, fingers clutching him tighter to her.

Because now she is willing.

She doesn’t kiss him right away.

But she does kiss him.


End file.
